


Out of Time

by romanticalgirl



Category: Bandom, Cobra Starship, My Chemical Romance
Genre: M/M, Multi, Waycest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-08-02
Updated: 2010-08-02
Packaged: 2017-10-23 10:43:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,957
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/249415
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/romanticalgirl/pseuds/romanticalgirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Gabe and Mikey feel the rhythm in a way that has nothing to do with what the band's playing</p>
            </blockquote>





	Out of Time

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [](http://violin-road.livejournal.com/profile)[**violin_road**](http://violin-road.livejournal.com/) in the [](http://waysplusone.livejournal.com/profile)[**waysplusone**](http://waysplusone.livejournal.com/) challenge. Thanks to [](http://inlovewithnight.livejournal.com/profile)[**inlovewithnight**](http://inlovewithnight.livejournal.com/) for the beta.

  
The club is loud and dark and Gerard’s lurking in the corner, alternating drinks of his beer with pulls from his flask. Being drunk is always one of his better ideas, and he’s a firm believing in doing what he’s good at, so he stays out of the flashing lights and just watches, drinking his way to feeling less out of place.

As much as he loves music, this is Mikey’s scene, not his. Mikey rules the scene with an iron fist or a velvet glove or something that sounds really poetic and romantic. He knows everyone and everyone knows _of_ him, and he moves through crowds like he’s got a clear-cut path ahead of him. People get in his way or out of it, seeming to know whatever it is that Mikey wants. Gerard always wants to draw him, the fluidness of Mikey that seems out of place with his long, gangly limbs. Sometimes Gerard thinks that here, with the music so loud it almost hurts and the lights just this side of seizure-inducing, that everyone else in the world sees Mikey the way Gerard sees him all the time. Sees his soul, his aspect. Sees _Mikey_.

Mikey’s in the middle of the pit, lost in the music. Something changes in Mikey when he’s in the midst of all this, something more than when he’s just listening to headphones or lying in basement on the floor while the record player spits and crackles along with whatever vinyl Mikey brought home from the used record store. Sometimes it’s current, but just as often it’s some weird 78 jazz or swing record that’s half distorted by their shitty player. It’s something Gerard can’t draw – and he’s tried – but it’s something he has to capture, at least a little bit, stealing Mikey’s magic for his own by pressing their bodies close together and feeling it coming off Mikey in slow, rolling waves.

Gerard takes another hit off his flask as the crowd shifts around Mikey. Mikey’s tall – taller than most of the scene kids, especially in his boots – so it’s always easy to pick him out in the crowd, and it’s just as easy to realize that Gabe’s next to him now.

Gerard knows Gabe roughly about the same way everyone knows Gabe. He’s everybody’s friend. He’ll steal your fries at the diner, he’ll fall asleep on your couch if you give him the few inches he needs to squeeze his tiny ass on it, he’ll laugh at almost everything but Gerard’s never seen him laugh at _someone_ , at least not at someone who wasn’t laughing at themselves. Gerard wouldn’t go so far as to say he likes Gabe, but he calls Gerard by name even when he thinks Gerard can’t hear, not reverting to the epithet of ‘Mikey’s creepy older brother’ like a lot of people do.

Gabe and Mikey start moving together, against one another and Gerard can’t help but watch. He loves this about the scene – that no one is awkward or embarrassed (except him, always him) – and it doesn’t matter if you’re black, white, brown, orange, yellow, green or chartreuse and it doesn’t matter if you’re gay, straight, bisexual, transsexual, omnisexual or asexual. All that matters is that you give yourself over and let the person next to you do the same. Gabe’s taller than Mikey, but he’s not the same kind of bone and angles. He’s comfortable in his skin in ways that Gerard doesn’t think he’ll ever understand, so when he hooks a hand over Mikey’s hip and they start grinding together, it’s graceful and sensual even if the music doesn’t match the slow steady roll of their bodies.

He takes another drink from his flask against the fingers of heat crawling up his spine, tamping them down with cheap vodka. Mikey would tell him that he and Gabe are wrong, because the music is master, the music comes first, but Gerard would have to disagree with him. The band sucks and are drunk enough that really all they’re doing is slamming around and screaming into the microphone, and Gabe and Mikey are the show, disconnected and disjointed, out of time like Mikey’s 78 swing records in the middle of their basement decorated with horror and science fiction movie posters.

He wants Mikey to bring Gabe home.

*

It’s almost four when Gerard slips behind the wheel of their station wagon. He can feel the alcohol in his veins like blood, flowing in stuttered time with the flickering dome light. Mikey’s laugh slips through the thick night air as he climbs in the back seat, crawling backward across it as Gabe crawls in on top of him. They’re like puppies, tumbling over one another and Mikey manages to get the door shut, both of them giggling as Mikey says, ‘Home, Jeeves’ in the worst imitation of a British accent ever. Gerard rolls his eyes and turns on the car, hitting the signal so he can merge into traffic, even though there’s not another car in sight.

He takes backroads and byways to get to their house, driving with the extreme care of too much alcohol. He’s got one hand on the wheel and another on his dick, listening to the wet, heavy breathing of Mikey and Gabe in the back seat. He looks in the rearview mirror from time to time, seeing fingers and hands and jaws, tongues flickering and licking at skin and the hungry open mouths fitting together. He stays sitting there after parking the car, watching them in earnest now. His dick is hard under his hand and he rubs at it, biting his lower lip as Mikey tilts his head back so Gabe can suck dark red marks on the column of his throat.

“Inside.” Gabe murmurs it against Mikey’s skin, but Gerard hears it too. It’s frustration and want and desire, and for a second Gerard isn’t sure if he should get out of the car or not when he hears Mikey’s zipper slide down. Gabe’s frustrated growl as he sinks his teeth into Mikey’s neck just above his t-shirt collar answers the question, and Gerard scrambles out, dropping the keys in the process and fumbling on the ground for them while Gabe slithers out of the back seat, ignoring Mikey’s low whine of disapproval. “Inside.”

Mikey gets out, pissed and drunk and horny by the look of him, and body-checks Gabe out of his way. Gabe grabs him and thrusts him up against the side of the wagon and pins him there, mouth rough and aggressive in a way that makes Gerard’s whole body pulse and makes Mikey moan. Gerard finally finds the house key and lets the others fall into his palm with a quiet jingle that manages to break Gabe and Mikey apart. This time Mikey’s not arguing. “Inside.”

The back door is right by the door to the basement, and they all move down the stairs. Mikey’s room is right next to their parents’, so the basement is the only alternative. Gerard flips a switch and the sole light bulb hanging from the ceiling fixture hums and pops and glows golden. The room is a mess for the most part, but there’s a structure to the madness across the room where Gerard keeps his comics and his action figures, where there are clip on lights that make the basement look like daylight so he can draw whenever he wants. Gabe gives the room a cursory glance and then flops down on the low couch, dragging Mikey down with him onto his lap.

Mike straddles Gabe easily and kisses him, mouth wet and sliding, tongue not quite visible between parted lips. Gerard sits on the arm of the sofa, watching blatantly as Mikey’s hands rub over the curve of Gabe’s shoulders. Gabe’s groan is muffled by Mikey’s mouth, low and rolling. Gerard shifts closer, moving off the arm to kneel on the cushion next to them.

Mikey pulls away from Gabe, mouth wet and spit-slick, and then leans sideways, kissing Gerard. It’s nothing new – he was Mikey’s first kiss, fumbled on this same couch beneath a Star Trek blanket, moving from closed-mouthed and innocent to the slide of Mikey’s tongue against his. It was an innocent question that started it and an equally innocent answer, that words couldn’t describe kissing that had led to Mikey’s mouth on his, to kissing, to touching, to skin on skin, to this - but nothing new to them is new to Gabe, and he hears the gasp he’s expecting.

“Fuck, that’s hot.” Gabe growls the words and leans in, licking at the seam of their joined lips until they break apart. He kisses Gerard and pulls him in closer, and Gerard walks on his knees until he’s pressed up against Mikey’s side, his hand curved around the back of the couch for balance as Gabe licks the cheap liquor taste from Gerard’s mouth.

“Hey,” Mikey protests a little then leans in, biting and sucking at Gabe’s neck. It sounds hot and messy and Gerard rolls his hips forward, letting his cock rub against Mikey’s thigh. Mikey hums then, a low sound against Gabe’s throat and Gabe breaks away from Gerard to moan softly, gasping for air.

“Fucking…fucking Ways.” He turns his head and kisses Mikey again, and Gerard thrusts forward on impulse, feeling Mikey hard against him. He leans in and licks the sweat from Mikey’s neck then moves behind him, straddling Gabe’s lap as well, resting on his knees as he presses closer, the front of his body flush against Mikey’s back. The movement and pressure shift Mikey forward against Gabe and Gabe moans into Mikey’s mouth.

Gerard sucks on Mikey’s neck, tasting sweat and alcohol, smelling the pervading scent of Gabe and sex. Mikey rolls his hips forward toward Gabe and, as he pulls back, Gerard thrusts in against him. They find a rhythm easily, like dancing, like music, like sketching and everything falls into place. There are hands and skin and tongues, kisses and touches and thrusting.

He doesn’t know what is Mikey and what is Gabe, doesn’t care. Just needs the constant steady pace of it, the give and take until he feels Mikey shudder against him. It’s like a chain reaction, a domino effect and he feels his own orgasm hit him like a shock, riding it out with steady pressure against Mikey’s ass. He knows when Gabe comes, his eyes locked on Gerard’s over Mikey’s shoulder until the instant he loses control and then they close, leaving Gerard staring at his sharp cheekbones and the long lashes against his skin.

“I could draw you like that.”

“Hey.” Mikey elbows Gerard in the stomach. “Can’t breathe.”

“Ow.” Gerard tumbles off, settling on the floor at Gabe’s feet. He smacks Mikey hard on the ass. “Fucker.” He doesn’t wait for Mikey to retaliate, just crawls over to the side of the couch and shucks his damp jeans for a pair of pajama pants, probably no cleaner, but at least drier. “Are you guys going to stay like that?”

“Depends,” Mikey mutters against Gabe’s collarbone.

“On what?”

“If you’re going to bring us booze.”

“Fuck you. Get your own booze.” He crawls onto the bed and turns on the TV, watching as Mikey sighs and slides off Gabe’s lap, heading toward the stairs that lead to the rest of the house. “You’re coming back down, right?”

Mikey nods and tosses a smile back over his shoulder. “But I’m not sharing my bottle.”

Gabe shoves off the couch, strips out of his jeans and flops down in his wet boxers onto Gerard’s bed. “You’ll share me but not the bottle?”

“Fuck yeah,” Mikey grins. “You’re cheaper than booze.”  



End file.
